by David Pierce
Mary McBride got pregnant in her second year, she would have been nineteen then, father unknown to anyone but herself. In her fifth month of pregnancy Mary was given sick leave; she'd had pneumonia as a child and indeed continued to suffer the after-effects. Her best friend Doris' widowed mother then owned and lived in the house on Chestnut Drive which Doris took over when her mother retired to Sun City, Arizona. The baby was delivered in that house by Doris' cousin, a resident instructor at the nurses' college who had served his internship at St Mary's in Davis and who still was an occasional consultant there. Doris assisted at the birth. The child, Sara, was left at St Mary's by Doris with the slightly comforting knowledge that her cousin could ensure the child was properly cared for. The name Sara had not been given to the child by her proper mother. Mary McBride died from a type of bronchial pneumonia the following year without having seen her child again. The father never came forward. The end.
Sara put the pictures away carefully in the folder, then managed to squeeze the folder into her backpack.
'How's all that grab you?' she said. 'Eh?' She gave my arm another unnecessary thump. I hoped she'd never hire me to find her father, I didn't think glamor boy would be much of one.
We caught a bus from LAX that took us downtown within a block or two of the parking lot where I'd left my car, which I ransomed, then I drove her home.
'It's been,' she said. She got out, gave a little wave, then disappeared into her apartment building. It was a warm evening. I sat there for a moment listening to the engine ping. Then I drove home to my mom.
For once, quite a tidy week, all things considered. Where did I go right?
A couple of days later the following report or poem or whatever it was arrived in my mailbox; like the others it had again been delivered mysteriously by hand in dark of night.
CONFIDENTIAL
28 May
Report
From: S.S.
To: V.D. (Ha ha)
Enclosed is ten dollars ($10.00) on account.
Spend it on clothes.
Drove by St Stephen's Hi School.
Jock types with armbands were checking every car
Going in and out of newly fenced
Parking lot. Large sign –
EMERGENCY MEETING – ALL PARENTS – TONIGHT AT 7.30.
TV news mobile unit parked outside front door.
Uniformed guard at front door.
Boy
Are you stoopid,
To change the subject.
No one's gonna put a 14-year-old boy in jail in the first place.
And in the second, how could your pop like you more
If you did something terrific (for once) but never even told him
About it????????????????????????????
So
You did it all for nothing, stoopid.
Tried to scribe a poem about your pop and my mom –
One of my rare failures.
See ya,
Sez Sara
XXX
P.S. Flown anywhere recently?
And if I laff at any mortal thing,
'tis so I do not weep.
This well-known saying can best be attributed to (choose one):
(a) Vince Lombardi. (b) Mary, Queen of Turkey. (c) V. (for Victor) Daniel.
